


Cover Me In You

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Established Relationship, Intoxication, M/M, Watersports, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 22:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13727364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Scott won't let him do this unless he's drunk, unless they're both drunk. He must know what Mitch wants.





	Cover Me In You

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back with some brand new kink. Watersports, specifically piss-play, in a different way than the previous watersports fic I wrote, which was omorashi, or desperation play. Mitch has "piss" tattooed inside his lip, did you really expect me to let that go? :P

Scott won’t let him do this unless he’s drunk, unless they’re both drunk, and thankfully, tonight the champagne is fizzing in Mitch’s blood, making him giggly and affectionate, and Scott doesn’t offer a moment’s resistance before letting Mitch crawl into his lap, curl up and cuddle and nuzzle the coarse stubble under Scott’s chin. Mitch breathes in deeply, inhaling the fruity scent of Scott’s shampoo and the faint, clean scent of Scott’s skin, and then he slithers down and presses his face against Scott’s hip, and then lower, his nose following his hands as they unbutton and unzip Scott’s fly. Scott’s scent here is thicker, potent sweat and warmth even contained by the fresh-smelling cotton of his underwear, and really, Mitch doesn’t understand how Scott smells so _good_ all the time, so clean and fresh and almost impersonal. Mitch hates it as much as he enjoys it. It’s not what he wants.

He presses his face closer, rubbing his nose against the curve of Scott’s cock, feeling it harden under him. The heat is growing and the musky scent of his sweat is more intense, better, and Mitch’s mouth is watering with the need to get a taste of Scott’s cock, of his moist skin, of his precome. He needs more, he needs the scent to overwhelm him. It’s already making his dick hard in his pants, and Mitch wants it to send him over the edge.

He tugs and yanks Scott’s pants until Scott lifts his hips so Mitch can take them off, and then Mitch is on his knees between Scott’s bare legs, rubbing his palms against the fuzzy, pale expanse of Scott’s thighs. Mitch stares up at him, salivating with intent, and surely Scott knows, he _must_ know what Mitch wants. Mitch dives forward again and mouths at the prominent outline of Scott’s cock, and he hates the way the cotton feels on his tongue but he loves having Scott messy and wet because of him, leaking precome through his underwear. Mitch sucks at the damp spot, lavs his tongue against it until it grows, until the briefs are nothing but a mild, wet hindrance.

He pulls them down, takes Scott’s cock in one hand, and Scott rests his hand at the back of Mitch’s head. He reels Mitch in, pulling firmly, and his intention is clear. Mitch indulges him and takes Scott into his mouth, sinks down until his lips meet his fingers, and it’s good, it’s so good to taste him like this, to feel the burst of precome on his tongue, filling his mouth. But it’s not what Mitch wants, and Scott must know that.

Mitch sits back on his heels after a moment, panting, and lets the spit wetting his lips drip from the center of his mouth and down his chin. He darts his tongue out to swipe it up, only barely making him more presentable, and he whispers, “Please.”

“What?” Scott asks.

“Please, I want it,” Mitch says, and it takes a couple of seconds for Scott to understand his meaning.

“Ew, no,” Scott whines, nudging Mitch with his knee. “C’mon, Mitch—”

“Please, Scotty,” Mitch says again. Maybe Scott wasn’t as drunk as Mitch thought; maybe Mitch is significantly more tipsy than Scott is right now. He leans forward and breathes hot and humid on Scott’s balls, and the hard length of him rests against the side of Mitch’s nose, and he _wants_ , and he really thought Scott was drunk enough to indulge him. He keeps nuzzling, making his case the only way he can.

Scott wavers. “It’s gross,” he mutters, but the words carry no weight, and his fingers card through Mitch’s hair, petting him over and over, and he’s thinking it over, Mitch can tell. He is a little tipsy after all, or maybe he’s just in the mood to give Mitch what he wants, because he finally reaches down and wraps his hand around his dick with a whispered, “ _Fuck_ , okay, fuck.” 

“In my mouth,” Mitch breathes, shifting higher on his knees in his eagerness.

“Mitch…”

“Please, Scotty, please, I want it, I want to taste you, please let me, Scotty, please, please let me, just close your eyes, just let me taste, please…”

“Fuck,” Scott says, and he grabs Mitch’s hair and pulls him in, closing his eyes as he fists his cock and squeezes. The head of it rests on Mitch’s outstretched tongue; he’s so ready, he’s so desperate, he needs it. But Scott just digs his fingers into Mitch’s scalp and groans, “I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You can, baby,” Mitch pleads. “Don’t think, just let it go, let me have it, let me do this for you, baby, it’s okay. I want to have your taste, your scent all over me, Scotty, I want you to mark me and claim me. I want, _god_ , I want to taste you so bad. I want to smell you, I want to smell _like_ you…”

Suddenly, in the middle of Mitch’s desperate monologue, Scott groans and clenches his eyes shut and releases, and the stream hits the roof of Mitch’s mouth, splashing against his tongue and dripping out the corners of his lips. He moans and lets the piss fill his mouth, forming an O with his lips so it will leak down the center of his chin.

“Your shirt,” Scott says through gritted teeth. He squeezes his cock, and it’s hard to stop once you start but he manages it, and Mitch tilts his head back, swallowing what he can and letting the rest course down his throat to soak his collar. The front of his shirt is splattered with piss, wet in patches across his chest and at the neckline. Scott reaches down and grabs a handful of fabric. “Take it off.”

“No.”

“Mitch—”

“I want it,” he says urgently. “I want to be covered in you.”

“Mitch, it’s dirty,” Scott says. “Please, at least take it off.”

“I _want_ it,” Mitch tells him again. “I want to smell like you, baby, I want it to last. I want to feel you soaking into my fucking _skin_ , Scotty, _please_.”

“Mitchy…”

“I want it so bad. I just want you inside me. I want you to cover me and overwhelm me, oh god, Scott…”

Right on cue, Scott lets go with a warbling groan, aiming his cock perfectly into Mitch’s mouth. The stream is too forceful, and there’s no way Mitch could swallow it all anyway; he lets it splash and drip and he shakes his head a little, pushes his tongue up to let more of Scott’s piss pour down his chin and his throat. The taste is intoxicating and Mitch feels drunk with it, strung out on how powerful it is and how powerful he feels, covered in Scott this way. The smell is even more overwhelming, seeping into his clothes and permeating the air between them until all of Mitch’s senses are overtaken by Scott.

As Scott finishes, Mitch sits back on his heels and closes his mouth to swallow whatever’s left on his tongue. His face is wet, his skin… He can feel every subtle current of air against the wet patches of his face and throat. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes, and breathes deeply. His left hand drifts down between his legs and he cups himself, pressing the palm of his hand carefully against the hard line of his cock through his pants. He wants to come, he’s _close_ to coming, just from Scott pissing on him. It won’t take much to topple him over that edge.

Scott pushes his fingers through Mitch’s hair. He feels close, warm and overpowering, just like his scent, and Mitch opens his eyes to find Scott hovering only inches above him. Their faces are so close, and Mitch’s gaze flicks back and forth between Scott’s eyes, reading the sharpness there, the awareness present in Scott’s vividly blue irises. Scott isn’t feeling hazy and drunk like Mitch is; Scott is confident and turned on and in control, and Mitch is ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.

He rocks his hips, pushing his cock against his hand, but he’s not ready to stroke himself yet. He’s not ready to undo his pants and make it quick. He wants to luxuriate in this feeling first, let it sit and build and sink in.

Scott runs his fingers through Mitch’s hair again, even more forcefully this time. He pushes Mitch’s head back, back, back, until Mitch gets the hint and lets himself fall backwards, on the floor with his legs bent beneath him. He’s arched so his shoulders touch the ground but his hips are shoved up, making the bulge in his pants even more obvious.

Scott sinks to his knees, straddling Mitch and pushing him down further, deepening the stretch. Mitch is trapped here beneath him, soiled and turned on and unable to do a single thing about it.

“It’s my turn,” Scott murmurs, and he’s right. He’s given Mitch what he wants. It’s time for Scott to take what _he_ wants.

“My mouth?” Mitch asks.

“No, I just…” Scott strokes himself a few times, almost lazily. “If you wanna be covered in me, _this_ is how I wanna do it. Open your shirt.”

Mitch reaches for his collar with both hands and rips the buttons apart, opening the soaked shirt to his abdomen, to where Scott is practically sitting on him. He pulls the sides and exposes his chest as much as he can.

If he had more leverage, a better angle, he could rub off against Scott’s ass. It wouldn’t take much. He’s so close already.

Scott strokes his cock with one hand and lets the other roam across his chest. He stares down at Mitch, but he doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t ask for Mitch’s hand or mouth or anything. Mitch rests his hands on Scott’s thighs, gently, just a soft touch to connect them while Scott takes care of himself. Mitch can feel Scott’s muscles tensing under his palms.

“You wanna be dirty, Mitchy?” Scott asks. His face is contorted with pleasure and restraint. “You want my scent to cover you, every part of you?”

“I never wanna wash it off,” Mitch murmurs in reply. “Ah, fuck, please, Scotty, please come.”

“You want it so bad? Tell me why.”

“ _Yes_ , I want to be reminded of you, I want you to cover every fuckin’ inch of me, I want you inside me and all around me, Scott, please, make me yours…”

Scott groans sharply, like he can’t contain himself, and Mitch closes his eyes, ready for the splatter of come across his chest. It’s sudden and hot and Mitch wants to rub it in with his palms, smear it around with his hands until it’s all over him. In the next instant, though, Scott takes care of that, grinding his hips forward to rub his cock through the mess and spread it up to Mitch’s sternum, down to his belly. Scott’s hand follows, tweaking Mitch’s nipples firmly and then sliding into the hollow of his throat, the dip between his collarbones where some of his come has pooled.

He lifts his hand and pushes three fingers into Mitch’s mouth. Mitch sucks the come off them but Scott keeps pushing, thrusting his fingers like he would with his cock, and Mitch forces his jaw to relax and accept the intrusion like he would with Scott’s cock. His eyelids flutter closed and he loses himself, lets Scott take control.

It pays off a few moments later when Scott shifts his weight and grinds his bare ass down on Mitch’s cock, only the constricting barrier of Mitch’s pants between them. Scott’s fingers are still occupying Mitch’s mouth; this won’t take long.

“You wanna come too, baby?” Scott asks breathlessly as he bucks his hips, rolls them down again like he’s riding a bull. Mitch isn’t even thrusting; Scott’s too heavy pressing down on him. Scott’s still in control of every part of Mitch’s body.

Mitch can’t do more than moan around Scott’s fingers, but his pleading tone should be clear enough even through the obstruction. Scott, thankfully, keeps grinding their bodies together and exploring Mitch’s mouth with his thick fingers, and it’s too hard for Mitch to focus on any one thing for longer that a second.

“You’re gonna come in your jeans, Mitchy,” Scott murmurs, his voice low and growly, like it’s a threat he’s whispering. “Not gonna smell like me—not _only_ me. I want you just as much of a mess of your own making. Can you do that for me, baby, can you come in your pants for me now, Mitch? Get ‘em all messy and stained all on your own?”

The request, the encouragement, the subtle command of Scott’s tone has Mitch creaming his jeans only a few seconds later. He chokes on Scott’s fingers and throws his head back, twisting as much as he can under Scott’s weight to get that perfect amount of friction on his cock. It takes a few moments for the high to dissipate, for the rush of endorphins to settle, for his breathing to return to normal.

When he’s aware of his surroundings again, he finds himself lying alone on the floor, Scott kneeling a few inches away. He’s grateful for the space, and it takes him a moment to readjust his legs into a more comfortable position. Scott waits him out.

Mitch takes stock of his body, the state of his clothes. The slight currents of air chilling his exposed skin. The scent of Scott’s piss and his come so intoxicating and strong in Mitch’s nose, the taste of it on his tongue. He soaks it in as much as he can. This is a treat, something they don’t do often, and he intends to savor it.

“Was that what you needed?” Scott asks him quietly.

Mitch feels the damp spot between his legs, where his own come has stained his pants. He sighs with contentment and answers, “Everything and more.” 

 

 _fin_.


End file.
